


To Protect and Serve

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A non-explicit romance.





	To Protect and Serve

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

To Protect And Serve by Gloria Lancaster

This story is a romance between two men. If that bothers you, hit delete now. There is some bad language and one or two kisses. If that bothers you, hit delete now. Skinner, Mulder, Krycek, CSM and Scully belong to someone else. David Reynolds belongs to me. No harm meant to any holders of the original copyrights. I'd rate this story PG-13, maybe NR-17, but there are no explicit sex scenes (sorry!). It is a romance, rather sappy, probably silly and was great fun to write. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

To Protect And Serve  
by Gloria Lancaster

David frowned at his faint reflection in the plate glass window of the elegant office. He looked particularly perky and fresh faced today and at least five years younger than his real twenty eight. It was a disgrace, a man his age looking that way. He thought, not for the first time, that he'd have been taken more seriously and treated with more respect if he was older, sterner, if his hair weren't shoulder length and wavy, if his jeans were designer instead of thrift store, if his voice didn't still betray magnolia blossoms. As it was, he looked like a bimbo, an empty headed jerk out for thrills and probably wasting the time of older, sterner FBI men with this foolishness. 

But he was not a bimbo - he was just a witness. Unwilling and reluctant, a witness to something he barely understood and had no wish to explore further but that the younger sexy FBI man seemed to think might be promising. Promising, the older even more sexy but very stern FBI man queried. Promising, the younger man replied. 

David sipped his coffee and wondered what the ugly brass ornament actually was on the older stern man's desk. From this angle it looked like a bulldog. 

"So Mr Reynolds, you noticed this man..." and the younger agent handed over a black and white glossy portrait photograph, "entering and then leaving the warehouse."

"Yes," David said, trying not to sound tired. "Just like I told the police and just like I told the other agent and just like I've told you." David handed back the photograph. "That's the man I saw." 

"Tell me why you were there, in that alleyway." The older sterner man sat back in his chair and regarded David with neutral attention. David considered smiling but quashed the impulse ruthlessly; now was not the time to be smiling at stern FBI men, no matter how attractive one found them to be, or how fine they looked in white crisp shirts and well cut suits. 

David realised they were waiting and pulled his thoughts together and explained it all, all over again: "I was on my way from school to work," he started and before the younger man could protest, explained: "I study at nights, pre-med, then go to work."

"Work?" the younger man queried and David flashed him a smile before he could stop himself. The man seemed a little flustered which just made David smile all the more. This one was cute. Great butt, puppy dog eyes, take me home and cuddle me style: all in all, very cute. 

"I've got two jobs, I'm a waiter in Bridget's Washington Tea Shoppe seven through two, then I'm a bartender at the Pink Pussycat Cocktail Lounge from six until midnight."

"Then you go to school?" the younger man sounded disbelieving. 

David fixed his whole attention on the younger man, Agent - Murphy was it, no, Mulder, that was it - Agent Mulder. His smile grew wider: "Yep, four nights a week, yes, that's exactly what I do." 

"Pre-med," the older man said and at once David turned to face him and wiped the smile from his face. He guessed he'd need an engraved invitation to smile at this one: stern, early 40s, bald: totally stunning. And Assistant Director Walter S Skinner as his desk plate stated. David wondered what the S stood for? Stunning? Could be. "You want to be a surgeon?"

"A physician, I'd like to specialise in geriatrics." 

"Not very glamorous," Mulder muttered to himself. 

"No, and not as lucrative as many other specialisms - but I loved my grandmother very much," David said simply, as if that explained everything. 

"So, you were doing what exactly in this alleyway?" Mulder asked. 

"I was taking a short cut from night school towards Bridget's, takes nearly fifteen minutes off my walking time."

"You were on foot?" Skinner asked.

"Sure, keeping fit and saving money." David couldn't help it this time, he smiled at the man. The man didn't react at all. Which was -interesting. "So," he went on, "I saw Alex going into the warehouse and I was just about to call hello but the door shut. So I figured I'd wait a while, maybe walk with him if he was heading towards Bridget's as well, then about a minute later, Alex came out but before I could say a word, this large limo pulls round the corner and drives right up to Alex and he gets in and then they drive away, real fast."

"Alex?" both agents said it together, Mulder looking at his superior wildly. 

"Sure, Alex, he comes into Bridget's about once a week, takes a double de-caff and reads the Herald Tribune, sometimes has a chocolate danish," David explained and catching the concern here, looked from one man to the other. "Sorry, you didn't realise? I mean, I know this guy." He leant forward and tapped a forefinger at the photograph. "Him - Alex."

***

It was late and David was tired and hungry and anxious. He'd spent all day in the vastness of the grey anonymous building, going from office to office, from interrogation room to file room to computer laboratory, all to confirm that yes, he really had seen Alex (Krycek as it turned out) come out of the downtown warehouse where Agents of the Federal Government had been shot and killed. 

They were back in Walter Stunning Skinner's office now, the plate glass window more like a mirror then ever, downtown Washington dark and somehow sinister outside. One or two expensive looking lamps glowed. David quelled a sigh. He wanted to go home, or to work, or to school, or anything, but be here with these brisk hard people, not much older than him for the most part but somehow much more grown up and important. And if he were addressed as Mr Reynolds one more time, he would scream. "Look, Agent Mulder, I can't afford this, I was due at work about an hour ago, I'm on the clock here and every second counts, you know?" 

"Just one more minute Mr Reynolds," Agent Mulder said, turning from the intense conversation he was holding with The Stunning One and a petite red headed lady agent. David subsided back into the comfort of a leather chair and pondered the lady agent's shining lovely hair -Clairol, he judged shrewdly, number 7 or 8 - maybe L'Oreal? Nicely done though, a well groomed, intelligent looking girl, and someone both men seemed fond of. 

For something to do, he studied the group of agents over by the conference table, the tall sturdy physique of the AD, the rangy muscular build - an impressive width of shoulder and slim huggable hips. David, he chided himself, you are very tired and very dumb. 

Now, all three of the agents were heading his way - feeling some sort of resolution here, David got to his feet, aware of his tiredness all over again, all at once. Sitting and doing nothing for most of the day wasn't in his normal regime, and it gave his body chance to actually feel the exhaustion he normally kept at bay. 

"Mulder, Scully," the AD spoke with tight lipped and probably unconscious arrogance, "you know what to do," and the agents nodded, said a polite good night and left the room. "Thank you for your co-operation Mr Reynolds, I trust we haven't taken up too much of your time." 

Standing, having to look up those important few inches at the AD's impassive handsome face, David felt a long forgotten tingle in parts of his anatomy he usually ignored. Looking at pretty puppy dog cuties was different, almost fun, almost a hobby. Face to face with raw power and reined in testosterone was something else again. Oooooh David, he mourned inwardly, you are in deep trouble. The AD was holding out a large, manly hand. David took it and forced himself not to sigh or smile or anything. "Going to work?" the AD asked as he escorted David to the elevator. 

David nodded and pushed back his hair impatiently, catching the AD looking at the long brown wavy tresses. I'll get it cut tomorrow, David swore to himself, feeling vicious about it for some reason. "Goodbye," he managed and got into the elevator with relief. He handed over his visitor's badge at the front desk then stood for a few moments outside the anonymous Government building. It was a dark cold night, promising rain. He contemplated facts: the late hour, after 8 now, and the fact he was so late for work he'd be lucky to still have a job. Added to this the fact he only had six dollars and 49 cents in his jeans pocket and the fact he could probably fall in total lust with that older, stern stunning man he'd never see again. David agreed with himself that this was not a good day. 

He set off walking towards the downtown area, thoughts skittering between the excuses he could make for being so late, if he could make the rent this month and whether AD Skinner would look better in jeans and a sweatshirt and lounging around than he did at his desk in his white shirt and leather holster.

***

The central business district was deserted, the traffic light at this hour, even the most dedicated workaholic long since departed. Skinner drove the big powerful sedan with automatic concentration and listened to the evening news station on the radio. He stopped at a traffic signal and glanced around, idly, checking mirrors and possible loiterers with ritual caution. His eye caught sight of a figure, a man, young and with long hair, walking along the sidewalk on his left. The man's hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, the jeans looked clean but rather old and shabby, the jacket was a little too large. As he passed an office block entrance, the light illuminated his features - young and fresh faced and tired. David Reynolds. Without a second, or even a first, thought, Skinner pulled up to the kerb and lowered the window. 

"Get in," and the voice startled David out of his reverie. Before he could frame the usual 'get lost creep, I'm not selling' response, he realised who it was. And it was him - looking at him with that stern reined back impatience David knew already. "Get in," it was repeated, not an invitation and not quite an order. A statement of intent, perhaps. David pulled his face together and walked round the back of the car to slip into the passenger seat. 

Skinner pulled away from the kerb at once and David relaxed into the warmth and comfort of the leather upholstery. It had been cold out there on the streets. "No taxis?" Skinner asked with genuine curiosity. 

"Med student - no money," David replied neatly, and saw the AD give an 'ah' gesture with his eyebrows. 

"I'll drop you at work," the AD went on with scrupulous politeness and David didn't protest. He felt it was, frankly, the least the FBI could do and he felt it was, frankly, the least he could do for himself to have this solid 100% pure American beef drive him anywhere. I'll think about this for a long time, David knew it, not too concerned. He'd have thought about AD Skinner anyway, another fantasy wouldn't hurt. 

The Pink Pussycat was a fifteen minute drive - David counted every second. AD Skinner didn't speak to him again, didn't look at him even, but David didn't mind. He was here, in the car with him, watching his hands and getting a real thorough knowledge of how the fingers flexed, how the palms curled around the steering wheel, the clean light shine of the neat nails. It was important to get the details right, so the fantasy for later would be more believable, more real. More arousing. And in the fantasy, it wouldn't be the steering wheel those palms curled around so nicely and caressed with such skill. Oh, no. 

The sedan pulled up before the small narrow doorway that proclaimed: Pink Pussycat - Cocktails. David turned to offer a heartfelt thank you, but AD Skinner had already got out of the car and was stood waiting for him. David got out of the car, hesitating just a second but Skinner simply pointed his keys at the vehicle to set the alarm then turned and held open the bar door in obvious invitation. 

David went ahead, pondering this. Maybe the man just wanted a drink, it was Friday night after all, but he'd not seemed the type to take a drink and drive. David felt his fantasies dim just a little then cursed his own foolishness. "I gotta go, thanks," feeling the eyes burning into his back - Harry was advancing towards him now, murder in mind. 

"Ho oh, so we do still work here do we?" Harry ground it out. He was a big fat mean son of a bitch at the best of times, but now was obviously not the best of times. David opened his mouth to begin the speech for the defence when AD Skinner stopped all proceedings by the simple expedient of taking out his ID badge. "AD Skinner, FBI sir, Mr Reynolds has been helping us with an investigation," in that calm gritty low down voice that made strange things happen inside David's stomach. Harry pulled back for a moment, intimidated by the other's presence. "I'm sure," Skinner went on, "you understand how important it is for all citizens to assist the law enforcement agencies," and he cast a meaningful eye around the dark club premises, lingering on the exit signs and the fire extinguishers. 

"Er, yeah," Harry managed, warily. David rejoiced; he'd worked for Harry for nearly 18 months and this was the nearest he'd seen the other man to being rattled. "Sure, course," Harry went on. "You wanna get to work then Dave?" he added, "maybe this gentleman would like - a drink?" with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. David's heart sank - oh no, Harry would make some off colour remark now. But AD Skinner just nodded and said he'd take a club soda, thank you. 

The club was busy as always on a Friday night, until about eleven, when the clientele either headed home with their new found friends, or headed on to greener pastures in the night-clubs and discos. AD Skinner sat alone at the end of the bar and had sipped two club sodas, then switched to Evian and lime juice. Maybe, David thought hysterically, he's an alcoholic, one of those 'one drink is one too many and a thousand's not enough' types he got at the bar sometimes. He hated serving them, but knew they'd get it from someone else if not from him. 

At last it was closing time and David heaved a very genuine sigh of relief. He'd no classes tonight, and he wasn't at work until six the following day - maybe he could get some quiet study time down at the public library? 

The patrons drifted away and David shrugged into his too large jacket, turning to scan the departing customers, looking for AD Skinner's tall distinctive outline. He wasn't there. David felt disappointment and anger in equal measure but before he could call the bastard rude names, realised the man was stood waiting for him by the side of his car, holding the passenger door open. His face must have looked his confusion because Skinner answered the unspoken question: "Its the least I can do." 

David gave directions to his apartment, his thoughts tumbled and confused. If Skinner - did - anything, what should he do? Fantasies were all very well, instant lust was all very well, but this was the 90s and David was no slut. He knew the facts, had seen this sort of thing happen before, if not to him then to people he knew: an older straight guy, powerful, relatively wealthy, takes a liking to a younger, poorer guy? David bit his underlip doubtfully then, as he watched AD Skinner change gears as they took a corner, and felt the craziness of the situation. The man offers him a lift home, simple courtesy and here was David, turning it into one of the more sordid episodes of Melrose Place. David Reynolds, he told himself sternly, sometimes you think too much. 

They arrived at the apartment block, a rather run down affair, if not quite shabby then very close to it. "You live here?" Skinner said, the question a simple assurance of the fact, no hint of condemnation or judgement in that gravel rich voice. 

"Yes," David replied and put his hand on the door, before he could say something crazy like come on up, have coffee, let's kiss. 

"Mr Reynolds," and the AD turned sideways towards him, that simple movement pulling David back into the car and into the intimacy of the situation between them. "I'd just like to clarify something." David nodded, his face waiting for it - here it comes, the offer or the price, I knew it, he's no shining knight in the armour of simple courtesy, he's just another closet homo, J Edgar Hoover is alive and well. "You say you've seen Krycek at the restaurant where you work, yes?" David's eyes narrowed in a 'yes, go on' gesture. "You must serve hundreds of customers a week, why do you remember him so clearly, why do you know his name?" 

That was it? That was the question? David nearly laughed out loud, could hear the relief in his own voice as he answered with patent unashamed honesty: "He's way cute, got a great set of buns." AD Skinner's face was still waiting. "And I'm gay," David added helpfully, "he flirts a little, Mr Detective, you know?" 

Skinner's face didn't alter at all but his eyes got a wide, deeper brown gleam. As if, David thought with despair, they weren't wide and deep and brown enough before, he does this to me now? "And you're sure," Skinner went on, "that he didn't see you when he came out of the warehouse?"

"Almost," David said, puzzled. "Like I said, the limo pulled up real fast, otherwise I'd have hollered his name." 

"Thank you," Skinner said simply, "Goodnight." 

David found himself on the sidewalk, watching the car drive away, back towards downtown, back - he knew it at once - towards the office. After midnight and the man goes back to work? Wonder what Mrs Stunning would say to that. If there was a Mrs Stunning. Or a Mr Stunning even? Which depressed him. 

It started to rain, pulling David's thoughts away from the rollercoaster day behind him and to the fact his skylight leaked - he yelped and pounded up the uncarpeted stairs, knowing his way in the dark. 

He opened the door and called out a query: "Cat, you in here?" before there was a rushing outward movement, overpowering heat and light and behind it, something crushing and heavy, hitting his chest and stomach with soft, oddly gentle violence. The last thing David saw was the rain soaked night pouring in through his open skylight. 

***

He woke up without a headache, which surprised him. The room was too bright and full for his senses to take in all at once, but all in all, he didn't feel too bad. Although, as he took in the IV bottle and the tube that snaked into his arm, that could have something to do with the painkillers. 

He knew the voices at once, or he knew one of them at once and guessed who the others were from his association with that voice. It was the FBI guys again, and the FBI lady agent this time too, bending over him and thank goodness, not smiling with phoney reassurance. "Awake?" she asked, confirmingly. "Hurt at all?" He shook his head, aware that his mouth felt very dry and tight. He licked his lips and the lady agent offered him a plastic cup filled with ice chips. He looked his gratitude. 

The other two were there as well now, Agent Mulder looking particularly rumpled and rather edgy - that man needs a vacation, David's doctor in training voice told him. And AD Skinner looked... David's doctor in training voice had nothing to say to that at all. 

"Well," that was Agent Mulder and David almost frowned, he wanted Skinner's voice to say it, if it had to be said: "looks as if your Alex saw you in that alleyway after all." 

***

"This is a setback," Skinner grated it out, the mildness of the word 'setback' pointing to the seriousness of the situation. "However, be that as it may, we now have to consider our options." 

"Protective custody? Until we can get Krycek?" Scully sounded a little doubtful. 

"We've not got near him yet, ok, now we have a real live witness, but we're no nearer to catching Ratboy," Mulder was bitter. 

"So, maybe not protective custody at all," Skinner said, briskly. "Maybe no sort of protection? Maybe we don't play that game. Maybe we play bait the trap game, huh?" 

Scully pondered: "If Mr Reynolds recovers quickly enough, as I'm sure he will, he's healthy and strong and," a quick check on the hospital file she held, "in fine shape otherwise, he could be back at work and flirting with Alex Krycek before anyone was any the wiser." 

Mulder pulled at his lower lip doubtfully. "Could that work sir? If he's back at work, after some accident, say a gas explosion, and he sticks to that story?" 

"That's the risk," Skinner acknowledged, "if whoever planted the device stayed around long enough to make sure of the kill, then Reynolds would be dead by now. So no one was there - they left the device to do the dirty work for them. But they must know by now Reynolds isn't dead and that he's being guarded by the FBI." 

"Hey, Atlanta wasn't that long ago, a mysterious explosion? Of course the FBI are interested," Mulder pointed out. "They'd be more suspicious if we didn't question him. So, we question him, let him go, he goes back to work and we - wait." 

"For the course of true love," Skinner added gravely. 

"And for David Reynolds to sob his heart out all over Alex Krycek's hunky chest," Mulder said, with a rather callous smile. 

"Hunky?" Skinner queried, dry as Arizona.

"I'd say so sir," Scully said, before Mulder could make matters even worse. 

"You're missing the point," Skinner went on, all ice and logic. "Why did they plant the device?"

"To shut David Reynolds' cute little mouth," Mulder said. 

"Why? Because he's seen something? So what? No, because he'd gone to the police with what he'd seen, and the police had handed him over to us. They knew he'd already told his story, knew Krycek had left a witness, a witness who knew him."

The two agents gloomed at that news, but faced it squarely. "So, what do we do sir?" Mulder asked, almost angry. 

"I think I'm going to take a small vacation Agent Mulder," Skinner said, smiling grimly, "yes, a small vacation - with an attractive companion." 

Scully raised her eyebrows. This could prove interesting. 

***

So, this was what a bomb site actually looked like. It was not nice. What wasn't scorched was burned. What wasn't burned was wet. What was left wasn't much at all. "Well," David muttered to himself, "Mr Reynolds can't stay here." He checked around for anything he could salvage at all. Apart from a few items of crockery, there was nothing. So, six dollars and 49 cents would have to go on underwear and a toothbrush. 

He resolutely ignored AD Skinner standing in the doorway, face stoney and patient. The man could rot for all he cared, cold hearted bastard. David had listened to the reasons, knew it was an efficient plan, even elegant in a soul-less way: the bad guys knew him, knew he'd gone to the Feds, they were after him, they expected him to be taken into custody, they'd find him and kill him. So - make it easy to be found, have a full scale protection squad around 'David Reynolds' to coax out the bad guys, while a man called David Fisher took a quiet vacation with his buddy Walter. 

There was a defiant 'mew' down by AD Skinner's ankles. The man looked, reaching for his 38, then relaxing. "Yours?" he asked as the fat black tom cat wove around the well cut expensive trousers. 

"Sometimes," David shrugged and picked up the animal, very aware of how close he was to the other man's body. "Not dead yet, Cat, huh?" The animal mewed, then began to purr, staring at the stranger with interested lazy lidded green eyes. Skinner returned the stare. 

"Got everything?" Skinner asked and David set down the cat, before shouldering into the too large jacket. He looked around the burned out shell he'd called home until 48 hours ago. 

"Nothing to get," he replied and led the way down the stairs to the car and waited for Skinner to open the door for him. 

*************************************

They drove in silence for the most part, weaving a trail across town to confuse anyone. It was mid morning now and David felt weird, not ill exactly and not in shock exactly but still, weird. Maybe Skinner noticed, because he headed out of the city, towards the suburbs and a large mall and pulled into the parking lot with easy skill. "You need some things," he stated and delved into his breast pocket. David tried not to notice the way the shirt material pulled over Skinner's chest as he did this. He failed. "Here," it was a wallet, leather; David Fisher's face stared back from the driver's licence and the social security card and David Fisher's name appeared on two gleaming credit cards. And it seemed David Fisher was a blood donor and carried five hundred in cash around with him like it was nothing at all. David started to envy David Fisher. 

"Why Fisher?" he asked, the question slipping out. 

"Reynolds - Fisher," Skinner stated, then took a breath to explain further, realising this would mean nothing to the younger man, truly of a different generation. 

"Oh, yeah, Carrie's parents," David said, actually smiling as he made the connection. Skinner gave a short nod, almost of approval. "Ok, buddy Walter, let's shop," and David got out of the car. 

***

David was a failure as a gay man, he knew it. Given two empty credit cards and five hundred in cash, any gay man worth his loafers would have had a ball. As it was, David was too sensible for his own good and bought from the discount racks; a pair of jeans that actually fit him, some moss green chinos, a couple of shirts, a couple of sweaters, plain cotton underwear and a few toiletries. He really tried to force himself to get something provocative, or something stylish and sexy, something that might make 'his buddy Walter' look at him as more than just a specimen in some science experiment but conscious of the Federal dollar he would be splurging, he just couldn't do it. 

'His buddy Walter' was reading Entertainment Weekly at a cafe table, sipping at a large cappuccino when David returned, bearing his parcels. "You didn't get much," Skinner said, sounding annoyed about something. David shrugged and ordered a cappuccino plus a ham and mustard on rye. 

"Got to think of the National Debt," he defended and sank his teeth into the sandwich. It was days since he'd last had something to eat -hospital food barely counted. Aware he'd practically inhaled the sandwich, he concentrated on not gulping the cappuccino, only to have his fears forestalled.

"Have some more," Skinner said without any expression, "I'll join you," so David did and ordered more coffee and sandwiches. "Of course, you're hungry." Skinner added. 

Yep, David agreed inwardly, munching chicken salad this time, I'm hungry. Not just for sandwiches and coffee either. And he could just imagine the reaction that little statement would provoke. 

***

They headed north into national park country, the October weather worsening around them. It got dark and started to rain, very hard persistent rain that kept Skinner's eyes and concentration on the road. David had requested a change in channel and at Skinner's absent nod, selected an oldies station - Motown, Phil Specter, the Beach Boys. Then slower, quieter classics; soothing all together, the warm interior of the car, Skinner's easy skill over difficult roads, the fact he'd finally eaten some food. David stretched and was asleep before he realised. 

*****

Skinner clicked off the radio, never taking his eyes from the road. He could tell David was asleep by the easy soft rush of his steady breathing. They'd have to stop soon for gas and Skinner needed to phone in, check with Mulder how things were doing at the safe house where 'David Reynolds' was being held. Skinner had checked the map earlier, there should be a motel and gas station up ahead, another twenty miles or so. He risked a glance at his passenger, sprawled and exhausted beside him. He seemed ridiculously young, a rather good looking average kind of boy, distinguished by the long wavy hair and the soft attractive faintly southern drawl. Not a difficult package; not given to chat, or fidget, or complain. In fact, remarkably reserved. And considering his life was in imminent danger and he'd lost all his earthly possessions, holding up well. There was steel under the brown wavy silk hair then, backbone under the smooth skin. 

Skinner's hands tightened on the steering wheel. He decided to ignore those last few thoughts. 

***

He pulled in to the Bide A While Motel and looked it over with some distaste. Not much better than a hot-sheets, rooms by the hour, cable playing dirty movies. But any port in a storm, and the weather had worsened considerably, sleet and snow mixed with the rain now, a dark and dangerous night. David was still fast asleep and Skinner, for some reason, felt reluctant to disturb him - he looked all in, his face drawn with fatigue, deep lines beside the mouth that sometimes smiled so sweetly. A sweet smile, silky hair and smooth skin - Walter, whatever next? He scorned his own reactions and pushed at the other man's nearest shoulder. "Wake up." 

David gave a fluid stretch, his legs outlined alarmingly in the old, too tight jeans. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and then rubbed at his eyes like a child. Skinner clamped down on any thoughts at all beyond the simple facts: he's 28 years old, a member of the innocent public and you're out of line. 

David pushed the hair back from his forehead in an automatic gesture and looked around a little. "And we are - where - exactly?" 

"A motel, we need gas, food, some sleep. The weather's taking a turn for the worse. Any port in a storm." 

David looked out the window as the sticky white flakes began to fall thicker and thicker. "Food? Oh, and I see what you mean." He stretched again, pushing his arms out stiff, like a cat, and he gave a smothered sound between a groan and a yawn. 

"You go get a room, take the bags would you, and I'll go fill up the car. Pay with the credit card, ok?" and Skinner waited, as David made no move at all towards the brightly lit Reception door. 

"A room?" David asked, with humour. "Tell me AD Skinner, are David Fisher and his buddy Walter - you know - more than just buddies?" 

"I wouldn't be at all surprised," Walter said with some gleams of wintry laughter, "but I'm here to protect and serve, remember? Can't hardly do that if we're in separate rooms now, can I?" 

David flashed the most impudent grin Skinner could recall receiving in a long time, then scrambled out of the car in a tangle of slim, long limbs. He scooted round to the back of the car and pulled out their bags, then sprinted towards Reception before he got any wetter. Skinner watched him go inside, then pulled the car up towards the gas station on the far side of the forecourt. 

It was ridiculous, but he was enjoying himself. 

***

David withstood the loutish desk clerk with the ease of utter disdain. He paid for a double room for one night with David Fisher's credit card, refused the offer of a personal guided tour of the motel's finer points and collected his key without fuss. Boy, that clerk must be desperate; David felt rumpled and stale and a bit ill and not at all attractive. Which made him feel depressed again, since it would be kind of nice to feel attractive, especially since it looked like he'd have several hours of the undivided attention of the most stunningly sexy men in the entire Universe. In the same motel room yet. 

David hustled himself inside the room and switched on the lights. It was - adequate. And at least it was clean and, once David figured out how the heater worked, it could be warm. Cosy love nest? Hardly. Port in a storm? Ideal. 

He got out of his jacket and shook out as much of the snow as he could, then hung it up carefully. His hair was dripping and ugly and David eyed the shower longingly, but settled on a brisk towelling that only made matters worse - he looked dreadful now, all wild hair and a white face. Oh, well, its not as if 'his buddy Walter' would care. 

He was wrestling, none too happily, with the heater, when 'his buddy Walter' came through the door. "Lock it, in future, ok?" Skinner said, making David feel about 10 years old and scolded by the Principal. He muttered a 'sorry' and went back to his task. The room was cold. 

"What's this," Skinner asked, as he got out of his expensive dull grey overcoat. 

"The heater," David explained, "I'm trying to figure out how it works." 

"Let me try," and Skinner shoved him to one side, not rudely but quite determined. 

"Sure," David said, feeling his temper slip one tiny notch, "this is man's work after all."

Skinner ignored the comment and concentrated on getting the heater to work, resorting to brute force eventually. David stared for a few hungry seconds at just how that brute force flexed Skinner's fine shoulders. "There," he said and stepped back, almost treading on David's toes. 

"Sorry," David muttered and retreated at once. "Thanks," he added, aware he'd been ungracious before and good manners having been drilled into him too deep to be eradicated by even these strange circumstances, "its freezing in here." 

"Its a bad night," Skinner agreed gravely. "I'm gonna freshen up and change, then maybe we can get something to eat, what time is it?" and he pulled back his sleeve to check his watch. 

David looked at those wonderful hands and wanted, quite dreadfully, to place himself into them, forever and ever. Which made him feel very dumb and very depressed all over again. "Well?" he asked instead, hopeful and famished looking, "Pizza?" 

"Fine, whatever," and Skinner opened his bag and collected a few things that David refused to recognise and disappeared into the bathroom, closing but not locking the door. Give the man credit, David acknowledged, considering he's holed up with a total - gay - stranger, Skinner's handling this with some style. 

Which only made David think of other things he wished Skinner would handle. 

***

It was a small town with one pizza parlour - they parked outside and dashed in, Skinner taking hold of David to shelter under a wing of Skinner's overcoat as they made it inside out of the pelting rain and snow: it was too cold and wet and nasty for David to waste a thought this was the closest he'd been - so far - to the other's lean, addictive body, even when Skinner laughed a little and untangled them from the overcoat, even when Skinner's breath came warm and fast against David's cheek as the man checked that David was still in one piece and not drowned. 

They stood so for a few moments in the doorway then Skinner moved away to shake out the coat and David considered the place. Half empty, but everybody in the joint staring at them with vacant, dull accusing eyes before turning back to their meals, exchanging quiet poisonous sniggers. Little Town USA, David judged, surprising himself by how sour he felt about it. "Can we get takeout?" he muttered in the general vicinity of Skinner's left ear. 

"Sure," Skinner agreed, not missing a beat; perhaps he'd picked up on the vibes here too, the reaction to two men dining together? He's ashamed, David knew it, that's why he's keen to get take-out too, he's ashamed to be seen with me - with a younger long haired boy. And David couldn't really blame him. 

Skinner ordered two large deep pans with everything and extra mushrooms while David stared for a while at the back of that handsome bald head. The food was ready quickly and David out the door even faster, not waiting for the cover of Skinner's overcoat, just wanting to be out of there. He stood by the side of the car and had to wait while Skinner juggled the sodas and activated the central locking system, before sliding in to the warm dry interior, careful to balance the pizza, salad and coleslaw boxes. 

They returned to the motel and David went ahead with the boxes, setting them out as best he could on the small table under the window. He opened the boxes and the warm, greasy smell of the pizza made his mouth water. They both tucked in to the food at once, casual about passing sodas and slaw, David not quite at ease on the bed, Skinner seemingly perfectly happy on the one chair. 

"Want to tell me what that was all about," Skinner asked eventually and David couldn't keep the surprise from his face. "Well?" Skinner prompted. 

David collected his thoughts; he was surprised that Skinner had the nerve to ask about it when it seemed quite obvious. But Skinner was still waiting and David considered how to put this, so it didn't sound entirely too pathetic. "Those folks back at the diner," and Skinner took another slice of pizza and nodded, "they were looking at us - as if we were aliens you know, they were sniggering and staring and I just... couldn't be bothered to pretend it doesn't matter." He'd not explained that very well, which he admitted: "I'm sorry, I'm not making much sense am I? See, its that they thought - well, how we looked?" Skinner's eyes asked the question. "Aww, you know - I could tell right off what they were thinking and it bothers me sometimes that people still stare and point at two men together in public, even like this, like us." 

"Us," Skinner said, through a mouthful of pizza. 

Absurdly David felt his face get hot with a blush. Didn't Skinner realise how it looked, the way David had sheltered under the other's raincoat? After a moment to let his cheeks cool, David managed: "Oh, come on, like you don't know? It looked like some sort of Daddy out with his boy and you know it."

But Skinner just munched his pizza and slugged down a soda with an indolent stretch and muttered; "Well, who'd think? My son the doctor." 

David pressed his lips together firmly, not sure if he was amused or not, then his face quirked into his trademark smile. "Yeah," he drawled it, finding the nerve to flutter his eyelashes, just a little, in pure self defence. 

"So, why a doctor anyway? And why didn't you go to college?" Skinner was stretched back in the small ugly chair, his big body seeming quite at home. 

David bit his lip and thought about evading these questions. Skinner was just making conversation anyways, he couldn't possibly be actually really interested. And in that case, David realised, why not tell the truth? "I graduated from high school but we needed me to get working right away, my Grandmother got real sick about then."

"She's dead?"

"Yeah, four years now, and I'm finally working towards being a doctor." 

"That's a fine thing to be," Skinner didn't sound patronising at all, rather, genuinely impressed. 

"Well, we'll see. If I fail, it won't be from lack of effort," David took the last slice of pizza and ate it with appreciation. 

"Tell me something, are you always hungry?" Skinner didn't look as if he were teasing, but there was something gleaming far back in his fine brown eyes that David didn't feel all together sure of. 

"Ummmm, yeah," David offered, shamefaced. "I guess I run around so much, and I get tired of waffles and pancakes sometimes."

"Huh?" Skinner didn't get it. 

"From Bridget's, see I get to eat the leftovers there so's that way I don't have to buy anything else. I get bored with it though. I've not had pizza in - oh," David had to stop and think about it, "a long time."

Skinner seemed angry about something again and he snatched up another soda with a face like thunder, leaving David more puzzled than ever by the man and his moods. 

However, David had finally gotten his answer as to whether AD Skinner would look better in jeans and a sweatshirt and lounging around than he did at his desk in his white shirt and leather holster. Because - damn him - he looked better in both. 

***

David cleared away the boxes and Skinner bundled up the trash, an amicable division of labour that suited them both. It was not late, barely ten, but David felt his eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of the room finally getting the better of his nerves and tension. 

"I'm gonna shower and turn in," he stated and breezed on, "what about the sleeping arrangements, should we - er, should I..." but the breeze stuttered to a stop under Skinner's mild gaze; those big baby browns didn't lose any impact at all with familiarity. 

Skinner's face quirked in something like a smile: "I promise your virtue is safe with me, its hardly Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert." David smiled then, feeling the unexpected draw of the other's charm -stunning, sexy, big brown eyes and charming as well? Oh, boy, but Skinner was a deadly combination all right. 

David relaxed under the shower and pondered a brief jerk off session under the pounding hot water just to ease off any unexpected developments, but he was too tired, even with Mr Wonderful next door, the whole situation too odd for any sort of dalliance or cheap-shot 'save me' routine. And it bothered him that he still hadn't figured out if Skinner were gay, or bi, or straight, or what. 

He rinsed and rinsed at his hair, glorying in feeling it really clean again at last, enjoying that squeaky clean feeling, then he shaved, a personal fad of his. There was no cologne, not that David felt bold enough to wear any if there were. Oh, well, like the man said, its not like Clark and Claudette and its hardly gonna Happen One Night. One night, he knew with a wink at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, would never be enough of that hunk in the bedroom. 

The humour faded before a silly but important point of etiquette. What should he wear? What did he have to wear, more to the point? He regarded his dirty clothes with disfavour and taking a deep breath, wrapped the towel round his waist and strolled back into the bedroom. 

Oh boy. Naked to the waist, all man, with a wide wonderful just ache-making chest, hairy and grizzled, pepper and salt all over that splendid frontage, the hair arrowing down towards the important bits, snowy white boxer shorts discreet and in excellent taste. David refused to stare, even though his eyeballs protested every inch of the way. No staring, no staring at the front of the straight luscious man's boxers, you hear me? No - staring! 

"I," a short throat clearing pause, then David continued: "I don't have any night things," hoping he sounded casual and quite sure he didn't. Skinner seemed to be staring at him, or rather at his wet hair, and he looked mighty unhappy about something. 

"Me either," Skinner gave a brief grimace, "sorry, not promising is it, but your virtue really is safe with me." 

David wanted to fall on the floor - he's uncomfortable because he thinks I'm embarrassed? That's all, that's all. Oh, bless him, bless that wonderful man. David could only grin his relief, feeling happier about things in general than he had for a while. He pulled on a clean pair of shorts as Skinner turned a discreet shoulder, then got in the bed, stretching out with appreciation. 

Skinner checked doors and windows, pulled out his 38 and set it down on the bedside table, muttering "safety on,", then took off his glasses and switched out the light. 

And David felt fear, the terrible fear of it ending, or of ruining it, this small insignificant perfect thing, the ease and unique happiness of being with an ordinary guy who treated him as an ordinary guy, not a conquest or a pick up or a potential lover, not as a tease or a target or any of the million and one ways men treat gay men - but just as a guy. Just a guy. And the big wide warm lovely bed seemed very small with Skinner - big wide warm lovely Skinner - in it. The moment passed and David rolled over on to his stomach just like always and he went to sleep beside another man for the first time in his life. 

***

It happened before dawn, maybe five, six o'clock? It wasn't anything much, nothing to get excited about - alas - but it was sweet in its own way. David woke up to find Skinner's hand on him, over his waist actually, not quite possessive, certainly not a caress or a hug or anything remotely like that, but still, Skinner was touching him, confirming him, his presence there in the bed. It was more rewarding than a kiss would be. It was - nice. 

David let the feeling soak inside, felt smug for a while then, too tired to feel smug, he went back to sleep. When he woke up, Skinner was in the shower chanting out the same two lines from "Who put the Devil in Evelyn's Eyes?", over and over again. Of such small torments, love is made. 

Skinner emerged, towel clad, trying to put on his glasses and his watch at the same time - David grinned, having no idea at all how nice he looked when he smiled, and he held the watch strap with tidy courtesy, careful to keep a polite distance still because despite everything, he was gay and Skinner was not and they were very far from being friends. "Ok?" he checked and at Skinner's nod, retreated, making sure his fingers did not touch Skinner at all at any time. "My turn," he said, mock fiercely and made his way into the bathroom. 

He took a long time, relishing the big wet footprints on the floor, the fact most of the shower-gel had gone to clean Skinner's large expanse of toned muscled flesh, the fact one towel was already occupied by Skinner's interesting torso. All of that was quite delightful... like being on honeymoon really, as David pondered that essentially straight alien concept, just being intimate with another, an intimacy beyond sex or fucking or all the dreary bedrooms games so called grown ups used. Just another guy, or gal, just another person, to be there with you. 

David washed his hair again and he thought about himself, how nice it had been to actually sleep with someone. Sex was rare and always simple, a brief unsatisfying encounter, often emotionless, certainly passionless. But just sleeping with Walter Skinner made him feel more passion than he could remember ever feeling before; more than flirtation or admiration - say Alex now, the villain that Skinner and Mulder and the redheaded lady agent all seemed to hate so much - yet to David he was just a nice pretty man with a great bod and lovely eyes, or the customers at the Pink Pussycat, who would rather go home with Frankenstein's Monster than go home alone, or even Agent Mulder with his needs and complexities and 'cuddle me' cries for help - but if he were crying to the nice lady agent or Mr Stunning, ah, maybe even Agent Mulder didn't know. 

That boy definitely needs a vacation, the doctor in David advised and he wondered, not for the first time, if he should mention this fact to Mulder's fascinating sexy boss. Who was banging on the bathroom door and shouting something.

David stuck his dripping soapy head out of the shower's roar and called: "What d'you say?"

"I said," Skinner actually opened the door, careful to keep his eyes turned away, but still... "I said do you want coffee or what? I'm making a run to the store, snow's still falling, sticking to the roads like glue," he added. 

"Ah," and for some reason David felt gratified Skinner had opened the door, and downright flattered he'd looked the other way - what a gent -"coffee'd be great, get lots huh, and anything with lots of sugar and no nutritional value at all." 

"Okay," Skinner said then he was gone, closing the door with a snap. David rinsed off the soap and thought about him, how he could be cool and distant and downright moody sometimes but how that didn't make him any the less attractive, maybe more so. And all in all, David preferred him that way. I bet, David decided after some deliberately, I bet he's just drop-dead when he smiles. 

He got out of the shower and dried off, having to wrap his hair in a towel-turban. It was no use asking the balding Skinner for a hairdryer, obviously; maybe he'd think David was 'rubbing it in' or something equally facile? Nonetheless, David's hair needed to dry - and some conditioner too, in fact. Oh, gay man, he told his reflection, thy name is vanity. Then, laughing at himself, he got rid of the turban and dressed in his brand new clothes, pondering the snug fit of the jeans somewhat. 

But now Skinner was back again, quite a different person from the gentleman or sensitive charmer from before, a colder older Skinner, carrying a big brown paper parcel and apt to check the windows and take the safety catch off his 38. David sipped his coffee and tried to remember who his next of kin was. "Trouble?" he asked at last, having to push the wet heavy curls from his face - washing it without a conditioner always made his hair curly. 

There was a pause, as if Skinner were deciding what to say - if anything. "I said, trouble?" David reminded, with a smile, unaware just what that did to his average face or his ordinary eyes. 

But Skinner looked frozen and at once the doctor to be flared into concern and David uncapped a coffee and took it over to the window where Skinner stood, checking the motel forecourt every three seconds or so. "Here," and he actually took the man's hand to place the Styrofoam beaker there safely. "Take a drink, tell me." 

Skinner's face gave a spasm of thanks and with a muttered, 'its cold out there,' took a deep gulp. David frowned. If Skinner was worried, then David knew he should be downright frightened. "What's happening Walter, tell me?" and he didn't even notice he'd called Skinner by name. No answer, so David peered through the window too, trying to see in the early dark morning light, the motel forecourt busy with delivery trucks, a mail van, folks coming and going. Then he saw it - a sedan, a powerful shiny new model, obviously a hire car. The kind of car, David knew it, that an FBI man would drive. Or someone hunting an FBI man. He leaned closer and stood on the balls of his feet, balancing on Skinner's right shoulder, for once unaware of Skinner's nearness and that he had - actually - had the temerity to put his hand on Skinner's body to find a purchase. He craned to check out the sinister dark blue car. It was only as Skinner turned to regard this gesture that he recalled himself: yet to draw away - stung - would be an exposure, would make the moment more than it already was. So David simply shrugged and pulled away naturally, as if it were a patient he were touching, nothing important. "Tall man," he said to make some sort of conversation here, "six foot?" 

"Six two," Skinner said, quite as cold as the snow that was still falling and he turned away again to look at the dark blue car. 

Oh, great, David groaned inside and put some distance between them. "I'm five nine," he offered the observation to his coffee cup, which didn't reply. Not only, David mourned inside, is he adorable, lonely (and don't ask how but I just *know*, he told himself) alert, sensitive and with big brown eyes but he's got to be six foot two and about to save your life as well? Oh, shoot me now, why don't you? Being gay was not easy - and this part least of all. 

Time passed - not as much as David thought. Just one half hour. But Skinner checked the forecourt, noted every licence plate, every change. "Turn on the radio, would you?" he asked at last, and after some thought, David figured out how the radio worked and even got a local channel. How come, in the movies, the people always knew exactly how to work the tv and the radio and the heater and the shower in the motel room? But then, the sun always shines on tv. 

At last, Skinner deserted the window and sat on the bed, his face serious and alone-looking as he checked his gun with chilling expertise and speed. "You think it could be - them?" David ventured as he sat curled among pillows at the head of the bed. "Whoever Them may actually be," he added. 

"Its a long story," Skinner said, with a brief gleam in his fine brown eyes. "There are things even I'm not too sure about, but let's just say, well, let's just say trust no one - ok?"

David grinned, this was getting way too spooky and weird for him. "Not even you, Walter?" he checked, reaching as if to take up a pen and paper and note it all down. 

"No, David, not even me." 

David's eyes fell, feeling something like shame. The local radio station started the news report, leading on the bad weather and subsequent 'frozen to death yards from home and safety' tragedies. Well, here and now, 9.05 Eastern Standard Time, the man I love finally calls me by my given name. Worth it all, really. 

***********************************

The snow had stopped, or at least paused. "We should push on, get a bit further," Skinner advised. "Use the bathroom David, we may not stop for a while."

He's calling me David quite naturally now, David noted, but did as he was told and thoroughly used the bathroom, feeling a lot better about everything afterwards. He packed too, packing for Skinner as well since Walter seemed reluctant to leave the window for a second and after some thought, even packed one of the blankets, on Skinner's direct order. At last it was all done. 

"Ready," he said, braced and trying to be tough in the middle of the grubby motel room, with no notion how he looked, or of the pink in his cheeks or the light in his eyes. 

Skinner slanted a wicked genuine smile and David was quite correct - it was drop-dead. "Ok Davey, relax, this isn't Rio Bravo and I'm not John Wayne." He held out his hand for his own luggage. 

David handed it over with some coolness. "I know," he said, feeling entitled to flirt at being called Davey, "And I'm not Angie Dickinson."

***

The snow had stopped, the roads were difficult but passable and the local radio station kept them both alert. Skinner was a genius with this car, David knew it, having to bite back admiring comments that would only seem like a come-on. The radio warned of a storm front headed this way then switched to a Vic Damone track about Moonlight in Vermont then, for some reason, stopped altogether. 

"Hmmm," David frowned and looked - it wasn't snowing just this second, the trees were pines, planted in ranks, the hills were high and steep. "I think the landscape's interfering," he offered and twisted the dial. Nothing happened. Despite the hazardous conditions, Skinner risked a glance at his charge and faced a steady hazel grey glare, David ready to return the look. "What?" he asked, not prepared to ask it again. 

"Its quite convenient, don't you think," Skinner said in a low down conversational way, his voice even more alluring and dark velvet up close in the car like this, "that the radio dies on us just as I seem to be low on gas."

David pondered. "You got a full tank yesterday. We went for pizza and back, you went to the store and back, that's it. There should be..."

"A full tank or nearly, yes." There was no sound except the car for a while, then the land cleared and the wind whipped against the right hand side of the car. "Wind's picking up," Skinner observed. 

"Thanks Sherlock," and David could have kicked himself for being so mean, and offered an immediate "I'm sorry Walter, that was low, sorry," to apologise. 

Skinner didn't seem to mind. He looked at his watch. "It's nearly four, it will get dark soon, especially with this storm front coming." With no further comment, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and down a slight slope, into the sheltering pines. "Wind's up but its not snowing, now's the time." 

"Time?" 

"We need to get under cover, and while there's still light I need to check back along the road for a while, make sure we're not being tracked. Davey, I'll take the gun but I need to, and you wouldn't know how to fire it anyways, but lock all the doors and don't open to anyone - anyone Davey, you hear me - not your own mother, not the police, not Agent Mulder even, no one but me. Ok?" 

David nodded, feeling scared but hiding it - he hoped. "What should I do, Walter?"

"Take the blanket and the warmer clothes out from the trunk and we'll wait out the storm, ok? I'm going back down the road, I won't be long, I promise." There was a scurry of movements then, Walter trying to get into his grey expensive raincoat, checking his boots and his gun. 

Then, just before Skinner opened the door, David leaned over and managed to get his lips on to the tip of Skinner's right ear. "Be careful," he said, and didn't mind if this was exposure, disgrace or worse. Skinner didn't react, only got out the car and David followed. It was cold, wet, horrible, the wind a demon around them, blowing snow and grit and dirt everywhere. It was un-natural. Skinner helped open the trunk and together they levered the bags out and got them, somehow, into the back seat of the sedan. 

There wasn't time to make a big deal of the moment when David got back into the car, or when Skinner disappeared back down the road. 

I should stand and cry I love you Heathcliffe, David thought, dull and feeling slightly sick. But no, it was starting to snow, and Skinner had enough to deal with without that as well. 

***

He'd have tried the radio again, but he didn't want to run down the car battery, and worse, he feared the radio news would not help. The wind grew wicked and it made ugly vicious sounds in the trees about and around the car. No other cars passed on the road, or David - damn Skinner - would have broken orders and flagged 'em down. He pulled out the warmer of his two new sweaters and tugged it on, then the other one as well, then a spare pair of socks. His hands and legs felt cold and he curled up as well as he could, tucking his legs underneath him. He was too tense to sleep, too scared to relax. 

There was a huge gust of wind that nearly rocked the car on end. Then a blow, someone hammering on the front windshield - David froze, not sure if he should scream, but knowing he wanted to, quite a bit. 

The blow came again, and then above the wind and the rain and the snow and the cold David heard: "Fuck this Davey, let me in, its me!"

So David groped for the central locking mechanism and for once, he actually made a gadget work. 

There was a cold dead leaf flurry of wind and air and rain as Skinner got back in the car. Then the hiatus as the door slammed and for some time nothing but the sound of the wind and the storm, wicked and powerful outside and Skinner, panting and cold and wet, inside. 

Oh, well, David gave a mental shrug, what the hell, and launched himself. 

***

Overcoat, gone - over into back seat and good riddance. Wet head and face - dealt with by one of David's hastily stripped off sweaters. Voices, babbling - really only his voice, babbling, asking questions and not waiting for the answers, the who or the how or the what, mostly the question being was Walter ok and yet not giving Walter chance to reply, least of all when Walter turned towards him, arms braced and ready for some 130 pounds of slightly implacable passenger to lunge inwards, upwards, around, to hold on and try not to babble, then the bliss of the cold strange shoulder and the strong arms, holding him close. Ah, then, the moment stretched and the incipient terror seeped away. "Walter?" 

"Who else Davey," low but firm in that voice, that voice that could sound so plain or yet - and yet - so sexy, a voice like a cat's tongue on your finger ends - rough and impersonal and a great gift, all at the same time. 

"The weather's closing in," Walter said, not making any fuss at all that David had just revealed his entire heart, "its very dark and I'd say these winds will reach hurricane force before long. We should be safe down here out of the way - pity anyone looking for us, out in this." 

"So?" David managed. 

"So - we stay here and we wait. Its fierce but fast, it'll have blown over by morning." It could have been David's imagination, but Walter's arms seemed to flex tight. Which was rather nice. 

"So we stay here," David repeated, hardly an agreement, certainly no dissent. After those first few frantic moments, the position was increasingly intolerable. "I'm sorry," he muttered and drew away. 

"There's nothing to do," Skinner said after a while, "and no where to go. Let's get some rest, huh?" and he took an efficient hold, explaining in sensible tones that it was only prudent to share warmth and space in such conditions - a precaution David could not and did not dispute. 

He spread out the blanket, being very careful that they both got an equal share and tried to get comfortable. Even with the blanket, it was cold and getting colder, something Walter seemed to agree on, because he gave a grunt and a movement and their bodies were a lot closer than before. David had to speak: "You're handling this really well, may I say?" 

"What?" Walter sounded both surprised and preoccupied, as far as David could tell he seemed to be trying to take off his glasses. 

"What are you doing?"

"My glasses, they're steaming up," Walter replied, sounding miffed. David choked back a laugh at the mundane response. "And what am I handling?" 

"All this, having to snuggle up to a gay guy you hardly know. Most men would have brought out the wife and baby pictures by now," David explained, and he sounded just a little wistful. 

"Haven't got any," Skinner replied bluntly. 

"What, wives or babies?" 

"Pictures." 

David chewed on that one for a second. He'd known in his heart this stunning specimen was too gorgeous to be free; wife and babies safe at home, under Walter watchful care. Lucky wife and babies. 

"Got an ex-wife," Skinner added out of no where, and David didn't dare breathe - he's going to open up, tell me something about himself? Oh, please, he prayed, keep talking. "Sharon. It didn't work out, my - job - you know?" David nodded, not such a hypocrite as to offer condolences when inside his heart was singing the Ode to Joy. "It was made final about a year ago now," pause then, Skinner sounding doubtful, "God, I should know the exact date shouldn't I? Well, guess that just shows," with a wry, very wise sort of chuckle at that. David felt a shiver start inside. 

"Anyone else?" David questioned, having to reach for coarseness and hardness in sheer self defence; one more moment of this and he'd be ripping the man's clothes off his back, at the point of his own 38 if necessary. He felt Skinner shake his head and continued, nastily: "Sure? Big stud like you? A life taker and a heart breaker? You must have to beat them off with a club."

"No," Skinner said, meeting hardness with hardness, "I tend to use a 9 iron." 

Ouch, David acknowledged that with a silent 'touch�' and settled in to bite his lip. 

"What about you? Any - friends?" and David noted the care Skinner had taken over the choice of the word. 

"No, no, not now. There was a guy, you know, same old story, he was straight, I was young and naive?" 

"Ah," and that could have meant anything or nothing. "You're not so far from young now, though, you should be out, oh, I don't know, dating or something?" 

"You sound," David had to tell him, "just like my grandmother: get out more Davey, find yourself a nice man, settle down," he laughed a little and could see one of those drop-dead smiles on Skinner's face as well. "Assistant Director Walter S Skinner, advice for the love-lorn, lives saved, pizzas ordered, distance no object. My hero." But that last was too near the mark, and perhaps they both knew it. 

"I'm no hero," Skinner said, sounding - for once - a little bit flustered. 

"Oh, come on! When a guy's got six dollars and 49 cents in his pocket and he's late for a job he really needs, trust me, you were Sir Galahad on a shining charger." 

"That wasn't anything," Skinner really sounded rattled now, and strangely, David felt glad - lets push a bit more shall we, only fair after all? 

"Yes, it was - well, ok, no, it wasn't anything to you, but it was to me." A pause then and David felt his obscure impulses to torment the other fade away. "See, you just offered the ride out of common courtesy, you weren't doing it to make a pass, or to prove some point that you didn't care about me being gay or - well, you just offered the ride because you're that sort of a guy. I think that's quite a big thing." 

"I didn't know you were gay then," Skinner pointed out, accurate with facts as always. 

"He didn't know, he says," David really did laugh, "with my hair, and my looks? Agent Mulder knew, right off, he knew - though that could be because I cruised his butt," wicked chuckle at that, "so, come on, I think you knew." 

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Cruise Agent Mulder's butt?" and Skinner sounded deadpan and academic. 

"Yeah, its a very attractive one you know - well, perhaps you don't know. About Agent Mulder..." David searched for words, maybe now was the time to mention this, "I don't wanna step on any toes here, but it seems to me that young man is -"

"On the edge, yes I know." 

"You know?"

"I'm no hero, no matter what you say, but I'm good at my job and I'm his boss, its my duty to know. We - well, don't worry, we're keeping an eye on him."

"We?"

"Agent Scully and me, and a few others. He's a good man, a good agent, too good to lose or waste."

"You care about him," and David felt an icy dread wash through him, clenching his stomach tight and scared. 

"I'm his boss," as if that explained everything. 

They didn't talk much after that, and it was strictly impersonal when they did. It was still cold and wild and dark, the wind fierce and loud about the car, the rain a driving pelting force beating down on the roof. David shivered and edged just a little closer to Skinner and after a while, felt himself drifting towards a doze, lots of things catching up on him in one fell swoop. His head fell sideways and he knew he was on Skinner's shoulder but couldn't be bothered about that too much. 

*****

Skinner angled his watch to get the time: nearly eleven. It was going to be a long night. His shoulder felt numb, if warm, from David's weight, the bulk of David's warm silky hair soft on his own neck. Determined not to be gallant about it, Skinner didn't hesitate when he wanted to stretch, move, rearrange the - sleeping arrangements - just a little, but every time, David came back, generally closer, until he was now damn near in Skinner's lap. 

Skinner thought about the situation, the long walk ahead of them in the morning, the danger he was certain lurked behind, and cursed his own foolishness in letting this happen. It was his job to protect David, and so far, he'd not done too well. That would have to change, and quickly. 

David gave a sudden grunt at some dream or other and snuffled closer, wrapping his arms round Skinner's chest and one leg over Skinner's. Skinner made sure the blanket was keeping out the worst of the cold and settled himself as best he could, oddly glad of David's nearness and warmth. Nice young boy really, intelligent too. More, and Skinner grinned at himself, than just a pretty face. 

***

The wind had dropped considerably, but it was still blustery and very very cold. Skinner led the way, dogged and enduring, wearing most of his clothes in an effort to keep warm and insisting that David take the warmest item of all, his own grey overcoat. David hadn't protested at this either, perhaps Skinner's face reflected what would happen if he did. 

According to Skinner's map, there was a gas station ten miles further on. "Ten miles," Skinner had said, wooden. "Nice morning for a stroll, huh, David?" and had set off with no more ado. 

Leaving David fuming in the unwanted grey overcoat, plodding along behind him, wishing he could have stayed with the car after all. Not that Skinner would have let him. But a smile would have been nice.

It was - strangely - rather boring. The landscape was full of pine plantations, trees in serried ranks, rising in steep dark green banks on either side of the road as it climbed up further into the hills.

The gas station seemed deserted, one truck and a few bikes parked outside, but best of all, a small diner proclaimed burgers and beer and Pepsi Cola. Paradise. Skinner stood and contemplated the scene from five hundred yards, not advancing. David drew up level and cast his 'hero' a smouldering glance. "Come on buddy Walter, this is it. Come on - show this boy a good time, huh? Let's get with it, marine, I'm really hungry Walter, come on." Only to be pinned by a sudden icy gleam from big brown eyes. 

"How'd you know I was a marine?"

"The way you wear your hat," David quipped, then more seriously, "I saw the pennant in your office, ok?" At Skinner's nod, he offered a smile, his first of the day, then turned to head towards the burgers and the Pepsi. Only to be stopped by Walter S Skinner reaching and grabbing and hustling him back into a wide, firm embrace. 

It was unexpected. David gave serious thought to uttering the immortal line 'this is so sudden', but something in Skinner's face stopped that at once. "What?" he asked instead, a tad ruffled. 

"Seems like a nice place," and David nodded, yes it did, "and there's a few vehicles parked outside," David gave a 'yes, and' sigh, "yet we've been walking up this road for what, two hours now, and nothing's passed us, not a truck or a car, or a bike? No traffic either way, coming or going?" David felt himself tense, every nerve pointing and freezing into utter stillness. 

"What do we do," and for some reason, he was whispering, realising how dumb that was as Skinner looked down at him, smiling. Even here, like this, Skinner's smile still packed a powerful punch - say, several megatons? David got his breath back and dared to ask the question again. 

Skinner seemed to be debating the point and David didn't hurry him. As far as David was concerned, he could stand here all day in Skinner's tough easy embrace while it was figured out. Not a problem. But then Skinner reached a decision and typical of the man, it hadn't taken long. David felt that now familiar shiver deep inside. "Ok, Davey, this is what we do..."

***

David approached the diner boldly, stepping in and tugging off the grey overcoat, pushing back his hair. The jukebox was playing some 60s tune about flowers in the rain, there was the smell of beef and onions frying, overlaid with industrial strength coffee. There didn't appear to be any customers. "Hello," he called and waited. Nothing. "Hi there," he shouted and even went back to the kitchen, calling 'hello' every now and again. Taking advantage, David poured a half cup of the terrible coffee, since it was better than nothing and gulped it fast, then set down his cup very carefully indeed as a small, cold snub nosed thing nuzzled into the side of his neck. 

He turned to see five men, sober suited Government employee looking men, four of whom were pointing guns of various sizes at his head and one of whom was lighting up a Morleys. "Hi," he said brightly, "let's do a deal shall we?" 

***

So, this was him. Skinner had described him as a 'chain smoking frosty faced bastard with dead eyes and no soul' and by God, Skinner had been right. They sat facing each other. One of the sober suits brought more coffee and, feeling bold, David tossed his now wild and curly hair and batted lashes, with his best sweetest smile. "Why, thank you," he said, careful to add a few layers of magnolia. 

"And what exactly can we do for you Mr Reynolds?" the smoking man asked. 

David waved the smoke away from his face and pointed out: "That'll kill you, you know?" before he took a sip of the coffee and continued: "Well, see, I figure you want me dead, or at least, silenced, yuh? And believe me sir, I've no desire to end up dead. So, I was figuring that we could - you know - reach a compromise here, say, I disappear and forget all about this whole thing? I mean, that would be a solution now, huh?" 

The man smoked for a while: "Your companion?" 

"Oh," with a downcast look, coy, then up through his lashes, "he's kind of not a problem, you know? We went off the road last night, he lost control of the car and well, he's waiting for me to come back with help." 

"He trusts you to do that?" 

"Oh, yes, see, we... aaah, well, he's kinda lonely, you know?" and David batted his eyelashes again. "Say, could I have some more coffee, it was an awful long walk." The smoker nodded and one of the suits poured more coffee. David cast the suit some appreciative eyes, incidentally noticing the fourth man guarding the back door to the kitchen area seemed to have - disappeared. 

"So, if you don't go back with help," and the smoker didn't finish that remark, but just stared at David with dead soul-less eyes. 

"Poor man," David said, with genuine feeling. 

The smoker stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. At once, the three remaining suits got busy, one went out the front to cover the door, one held a very expensive English raincoat for the smoker, the third stood and played big eyes with David. And David played big eyes right back, and he had the nerve to wink at the sad sap as Walter S for Silent Skinner socked him behind the ear and the suit dived like a pearl fisher. 

"What the fuck..." the smoker turned, a nasty display of yellowing teeth and feral eyes, as Skinner pointed a negligent 38 at them all. 

"Don't even think about it," Skinner advised the suit by the door and dealt an efficient ruthless right hook to the jaw of the other suit, which floored him. David grinned. 

"Just you and me now," Skinner said casually and since he looked thirsty, David poured him some coffee and ushered the suit and the smoker back towards their table. 

"Oh, come on," he encouraged, "today, today," as the rain and wind grew stronger, rattling the door in its frame. "Come on boys." 

Skinner waved the gun negligently, but with a meaningful glare. The smoker and the suit sat down, looking stone faced. "My congratulations, Mr Reynolds, you provided excellent cover for Mr Skinner." The smoker sounded as if he meant it. 

"Thank you," David said, in the same spirit. "Here's your coffee," he added and went behind the diner counter and, thinking it might come in useful, picked up one of the sharper larger knives. 

"This situation can be resolved," the smoker said as Skinner sat down opposite. "And it must be. As we are both fully aware." 

"Indeed," Skinner took a slug of coffee and leaned back and for once, looked all of his years and tired of them. "I'd say the resolution involved you leaving here, and never threatening David Reynolds again. Wouldn't you say that?" 

The smoker made a distinctive movement towards his breast pocket, but the only thing he was after was another cigarette. "Those really are bad for you," David called from behind the counter, feeling it was his duty. 

"And in return for Mr Reynolds' assured safety, what do we get?" the smoker said, after a minute pause. 

"You get out of Virginia alive?" Skinner offered, with a tone of finality. 

"Please," the smoker sounded almost pained, "such tactics are unnecessary. If Mr Reynolds - when Mr Reynolds testifies to what he saw in that alleyway in Washington, I can assure you, Alex Krycek will not appear - one way or another. And if he does, that will make no difference to the ultimate issue." 

"So," Skinner agreed, "what's the problem. Let him go, leave him alone, let the case come to trial or not, as it may." 

"Krycek is no longer - available - to us," the smoker said, as if making a great sacrifice. "His services are now engaged elsewhere." 

"Can I ask where?"

"No." 

"And the agents who died in that warehouse..." Skinner hid the rest of his remarks in his coffee mug.

"I would suggest the redoubtable Agent Scully confirm the autopsy findings," the smoker addressed the air above Skinner's head. "And I think she will find that although they had bullets in them, that was not the cause of death. So, there can be no trial for murder - not against a self degrading biological implant." 

The jukebox wheezed to a stop, gave a clunk and started up again, flowers in the rain. "David Reynolds is safe," Skinner said it, making it a statement. 

"On this occasion, yes, I can grant you that," the smoker stubbed out his cigarette and reached at once for another. "And I think our business here is concluded. Don't you?" 

Skinner raised the 38, pointed it at the smoker's head then put it down, very gently. "Yes." 

***

David helped carry the three unconscious suits and stowed them in the back of the limo that seemed to appear from nowhere. "How does he do that, you know, get limos to appear?" but it was just as well he didn't expect an answer to the question, because he didn't get one. The last suit drove the limo, the smoker a cool and unruffled passenger. 

The diner was still empty, it was still cold and raining, so David made himself useful in the kitchen and rustled up steak and eggs and fixings and tried to make decent coffee, all of which Skinner consumed without a word. Feeling provoked, David unplugged the jukebox and received the widest drop dead gorgeous smile from the Silent Stunning One as his reward. Flowers in the rain got stale real fast. 

They ate and drank coffee and used the bathroom, Skinner even going so far as to hand David the 38 as he disappeared behind the bathroom door. David felt the honour at once and made sure his face didn't reflect anything but respect. It seemed, however, that Skinner saw through that, because he just grabbed a handful of David's hair in passing and pulled, hard. 

Holding the gun, still warm from intimate contact with Skinner's delicious body, David stared out of the wide diner windows and informed the pine trees, with some smugness; "That's my man." 

***

David insisted on walking back to the car. He found the diner creepy enough without waiting there, alone, while Skinner fed gas into their car. The phones - needless to say - were out, a fault easily blamed on the weather and which neither David or Skinner pretended to believe for a second. So they walked back the ten miles, downhill this time thank God, as the darkness grew and the rain started to fall. The vicious hurricane winds had stopped although the rain still fell in die-straight lines, making their path treacherous in the growing darkness. But David didn't mind at all. Because David knew the days were - as the saying went - numbered. 

Skinner poured a litre of gas into the tank, then tossed the now empty plastic container into the trunk. "Time to go," he observed and they got into the car, it being quite typical of the day that Skinner got it started at once and back onto the road in ten seconds. If, David fumed inwardly, it turns out he likes Bach and can cook Cherries Jubilee, then it's really really not fair that he's tough and sexy and six foot two as well. Just - downright - not fair. 

***

Skinner found an interstate and they drove and filled up with gas and stopped for food and stuff. It seemed to get a bit fuzzy then for a while and David thought about pretending to be out of it, asleep, shocked, whatever, just for the delight of resting on Walter's shoulder again, but there didn't seem to be time and they were back in Washington before David could determine what he should, or could, do about it. 

Skinner had made phone calls at various stages too and David was by no means surprised to find Agent Mulder and the red headed lady agent waiting for them, straight-faced and taciturn and professional, still in suits and sensible shoes at 1.00 in the morning. 

It got noisy and crowded; crowded with other agents and statements and forensics taking away his shoes then bringing them back and machine generated coffee offered by the night security guys on their patrols. David answered a lot of questions but none of them were actually about the important stuff, such as was he hurt, was it cold and dark, was the smoking man really creepy? 

It was getting light, almost 5.30, before David saw Skinner again; a different Skinner - or maybe the same. Back in that dark charcoal suit, the blinding white shirt, the sombre tie, looking shaved and in control and tidy and a million miles away from the man who's ear tip he'd kissed some hours ago. Back in the office where it all started, David accepted yet another cup of coffee and signed forms and handed back David Fisher's wallet and ID and the credit cards. Then he agreed to testify if needed and waived the right to sue the FBI for anything, ever. "Give me the pen," he said promptly, and signed everything they put in front of him. 

But with a great sense of anti climax, that seemed to be that. The nice red headed lady agent shook his hand and he stood and tried to be polite in the face of her own shining courtesy. Agent Mulder seemed even more fractured and driven than before, a fact not lost on the nice red headed lady agent as she steered him out of the office muttering threats of home and sleep and a decent meal. Nice couple, David judged, if they only knew it. 

David rubbed his fingers across his forehead, then back into his hot tangled hair. A strange agent, older and craggy faced, talked to him about security and confidentiality and other stuff and David just nodded and agreed and promised not to sell his story to the National Enquirer. 

And here he was, back where it all started. David handed over his visitor's badge to the security guards and found himself on the sidewalk outside the J Edgar Hoover Building one more time. He groped into the pocket of his new Government bought jeans and realised that, by some fluke, he now had AD Skinner's wrist watch and he tried real hard to remember how that had happened. It was too complicated, so he simply noticed it was time for work and he set off towards Bridget's Tea Shoppe. 

***

The car pulled over and the door opened. "Get in." 

He obeyed mechanically and after he'd fastened his seat belt, started to worry if he had a pen - there must be another form for him to sign, another report to witness. "How are you?" and then he bit his lip again, because that just made him sound dumb. Skinner looked wonderful, altogether perfect. Damn. 

"I'm tired, I'm taking two days leave," Skinner replied to the question and stopped with limitless patience at a traffic signal. "How about you?" 

"I think I'm tired too," David said and turned away. Then turned back as Skinner took a left, instead of the right that led towards Bridget's. "And what is going on?" he asked tightly, expecting further secret paranoid unsettling stuff involving smokers and men in suits. 

"I'm no hero," Skinner stated, watching the traffic and the road, "you do know that don't you?"

"Yeah, I know, so you say," David replied, irritated. "Listen, just because I'm gay and you're sexy and I'm bound to be in - er, I mean, have a crush on you - well, after everything, well, there's no need to..."

David stopped talking, because Skinner put a hand on his thigh. Not his knee, or his shoulder, or his arm or hand. His thigh. As if his man knew exactly what he was doing. And why, David asked himself, are you surprised? "When did all this happen?" he asked, feeling he had a right to know.

"When you stopped yourself smiling at me that first time." 

Oh - that soon? David considered it, as he took the possessive hand on his thigh and hitched it higher, into a warmer darker corner of his body. "Ok," he said, "that's good." He took a breath and thought about asking Skinner if he were gay, were a virgin with men, if he liked breakfast in bed, all the important things, but he didn't because a traffic snarl brought the car to a halt and in the hiatus, Skinner leaned over and reeled David in and said, with real power: "God, I love your hair," then kissed him on the lips. David kissed back and thought about replying 'I wish I could say the same' but figured it was too early in the honeymoon. Ah, well, he'd learn. 

"Well, you're certainly not shy," David struggled to regain his breath, "kissing another man in broad daylight? Are you crazy?"

"I don't think I'll get arrested," Skinner didn't sound worried at all. 

"Well, yeah, ok, but that's not all..." but before David could list the reasons Skinner interrupted.

"Everyone who needs to know will know. The Director, the Secretary of State, the President, I won't be blackmailed and neither will you. Relax. This is the 90s." 

"I've got your watch," David said instead and removed Skinner's hand from its interesting position so he could fasten the strap. He stroked down the lovely hand absently, savouring the strength he could feel there. Skinner's fingers flexed around David's hand. Strong but gentle too. "What's going to happen?" and David wanted to kick himself for asking, aware, as always, that he should just go with the magic moment, and leave workaday worries until tomorrow - or whenever this ended. 

"I'm taking you home, you need somewhere to stay - and then I'll drive you to work if you want, or order pizza if you want. Or take you to bed, if you want." Skinner withdrew his hand to concentrate on the steering wheel, out into the suburbs now and too conscientious to drive one handed. 

"Is that all?" David meant to sound mildly interested, instead he sounded outraged. 

"If you want, yes, that's all. For now." 

"You know I've got a - crush - on you, don't you?" David had no time for false pride or foolish games - having his life threatened by smokers and suits only reinforced his innate tendency to state things as he saw them. 

"Ummmm, yes," Skinner replied after a while. "I'd say that's not all, which is perfectly mutual and probably only to be expected after... well, after everything."

"Mutual?" that came out as a breathless squeak. They'd arrived -wherever it was - by now and David got out of the car and looked around. A very nice, very expensive neighbourhood indeed. A big expensive looking place. "But you didn't say - I mean, you were so - Walter, you can't have feelings for me."

"Ok," Skinner sounded as if he were humouring the insane now, "whatever, lets get you inside huh, we'll talk about it later."

The apartment was large and barely furnished and cold. "Are you doing this," David had to make sure before he took another step inside the man's home and before he lost it totally, "are you doing this out of some weird gallantry or friendship thing, or obligation or charity or stuff?" 

Skinner was getting out of that damned grey overcoat and passed a hand over his bald handsome head. David refused to sigh in longing. "You need somewhere to stay, anything else is up to you, anything you can give - share with me, that will be fine and I'll be - grateful," a strange wistful look then in those warm deep big brown eyes. 

"You'll be grateful?" David felt really confused now, "you will?" he advanced on the man, placing himself right in front of Skinner and holding out his arms, "so there's no pressure, no strings, no commitments here?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid there probably will be," Skinner pushed the front door closed then took an efficient hold of David, holding very tightly too. "Pressure," oh, that was wicked, that word breathed into his ear like that, "strings if you like that sort of thing, and commitments," a brief lick at David's earlobe, "if I'm very very lucky indeed." 

"Can you cook Cherries Jubilee?" David had to ask. 

"Nope, hate the things, why?" as David snuggled closer, feeling his heels come up off the floor as Skinner held him, pulling him closer, upwards, so their faces could meet. 

"No reason," David breathed and tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Nothing. He opened one eye warily, still a little edgy with all this, but Skinner was smiling down at him, so David closed the eye again and waited. He didn't have to wait long. 

The kiss started out gently, an exploration, tentative, then deepened at David's pleasure filled groan, growing more possessive, harder and more passionate. David's opened his mouth wide, seeking Skinner's tongue, drawing it back inside his own mouth, rubbing and slipping across and against the rough limber strength of Skinner's lips and tongue. He'd not kissed anyone, not properly, for a long time and maybe that made it more wonderful than it really was - but it was still pretty wonderful anyway. David groaned again and wrapped both arms round Skinner's impressive shoulders and hugged, holding on tightly, feeling himself being gathered up, consumed into Skinner's embrace. 

The kisses gentled, becoming tender and arousing, creating an aching heat in David's abdomen and buttocks. "I should go to work," David said, with real regret. 

"You should," Skinner agreed after another kiss. "I'm not taking on a freeloader, not the way you get through the groceries." 

David didn't know whether to be insulted or not. "No one asked you to do any of this you know," he realised he probably was insulted after all, "I mean, I've got a life here, I need to work, and my studies too, I'm not going to..."

"Davey," a kiss, "shut up." 

***

Conversation in the car was limited to practicalities; loose talk about sets of keys and maybe getting David his own car and how about making it business-like and letting Skinner provide funds for David's studies that David would repay just like any other commercial transaction? 

David didn't say anything except "No," a few times, too stunned at even the hint this may be more than a crush, or an affair, or a one night stand. He'd been prepared for the one night stand routine since Skinner touched his thigh, he'd known he didn't have the self respect to refuse the offer, too turned on by Walter in any case, too near to being in love to turn down the chance of sex with this man - on any terms. He was prepared though, ready to walk away and forget all about it when it was over, in the morning - just another heartbreak. He'd even thought about leaving a rose on the pillow. All of that, David could cope with. This - the idea of cars and keys and loans and permanence and the dreaded 'relationship' word was - just like Walter - too scary and far too attractive. Because it couldn't possibly come true. 

"So, what do you say?" and bizarrely, Walter sounded nervous as he parked - against the law - outside Bridget's old fashioned European cafe style front. "Huh, David?" 

David turned and considered the man. There was only one answer. "Walter - what's the S stand for?"

***

Four years later:

David yawned and stretching, running his fingers through his short hair, still not entirely familiar with it. It was certainly easier to deal with like this and these days every second counted; if he'd known how hard it was to be a doctor, he'd maybe have reconsidered. David set the shower to the correct temperature and hoped the tepid water would chase away the cobwebs from his sleep fogged brain. 

Clean and dry, he padded back into the bedroom to dress, collecting an absent minded kiss from Walter on the way. "You're late today?" he queried. 

"Not really, a few minutes maybe, I've got OPC hearings all day." 

"Poor Walter, Mulder again?" David felt Walter deserved a big smoochy kiss for this. 

"Who else? Still chasing little green aliens, still losing all the evidence, still writing weird reports." Walter gave a 'pity me' sigh and seemed inclined for another smoochy kiss. "I still miss your hair. What about you?"

"Frantic, as always," David pulled away with regret, "save it for later man of mine, I'm due at the clinic by ten minutes ago." David eyed the tangled tumbled bed and blushed. "We shouldn't have wasted that extra thirty minutes."

"I wouldn't call it a waste," Walter said flatly and reeled David back into his arms. "In fact, I'm insulted." 

"You'll be late," David warned. "Mulder's probably practising his big puppy dog eyes routine right this minute." 

"Let him," Walter was brisk about it, "what's the use of being the boss if I can't take a little time every now and again?"

"Point," David agreed gravely. "But I'm not the boss and I can't, much as I'd like to, so we save it for later, ok?"

Walter swatted his retreating lover's bare rear end, not hard: "I don't know Davey, sometimes you are no fun at all." 

"Yeah, so you say, every night - in fact, several times every night. Come on Marine, get with the programme," and David refused to play along. It wasn't just Mulder that could make big puppy dog eyes; Walter had a neat line in Devoted Retriever himself sometimes. 

They managed coffee and toast, before David gave a yelp: "Lord, look at the time... I'm outta here," taking some toast with him on his whirlwind way to the door. 

"Friday night is pizza night, remember?" Walter said, collecting his overcoat and briefcase and right behind him, only to be stopped dead by David returning at full speed, grabbing him and holding on and kissing him fiercely. "Wooooo, what was that for?" 

But David just smiled his best bright smile, then was gone in a tangle of coat and arms and door and car keys. He settled into the car and drove away, singing along with the radio and blushing slightly; Friday nights, pizza and Walter often had that effect on him - and he hoped they always would. 

End

Thanks to Katrina for an American Betaread. Ta chuck.  
GL: 16650 words, 8 to 27 Feb 1997  
\--   
Gloria Lancaster -   
Two out of three people wonder where the other one has gone.


End file.
